Edge of a Feather
by Jedi Holmes
Summary: Sent on a fast deteriorating diplomatic mission to Trandosha with her long-time partner Jedi Knight Mycroft Holmes, Jedi Knight Naomi Angelus suffers a tragic loss and is forever changed. Prequel to 'Threads and Balance'. Multi-fandom AU.


**A/N: **Hello! Welcome to the first of our Star Wars crossover AU series (for more information about that as well as the authors, please go to our profile). This incorporates characters and ideas from the _BBC Sherlock, Supernatural, Marvel_, and (just a little bit of the) _Doctor Who_ universes. You don't have to be proficient in them all, even just one or two will do, we'll try to keep you up to speed as we go along, otherwise feel free to look up the character/reference on any of the respective wikis.

This is rated T, but to warn you there is a non-explicit scene, so if that makes you uncomfortable, we're sorry.

Please enjoy, let us know what you think, and stay tuned for more.

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><p><strong>Edge of a Feather<strong>

Thirty-six standard year old Naomi Angelus swore in her native language, the Enochian sliding off her tongue in a string of angry words that she rarely used. She slid the curtain of the window back into place, turning back to catch the eye of her three companions. Her auburn hair had fallen out of its usual bun, the wavy strands hanging down her tired face and bright blue eyes. "There's at least fifty out there, we'll never make it without damage."

Her twenty-one year old Padawan Learner, Castiel Novlus, gave her a bit of a look. "Master, we'll be fine."

The diplomatic negotiations hadn't gone well, and the Trandoshans were a bit…angry at the three Jedi. And apparently out for blood, and the building shook with a loud blast. Naomi swore again. "The back way is currently a pile of rubble, and there are fifty Trandoshan gangsters out front, what do you propose we do, _Padawan_?" As usual, when stressed, Naomi snarked condescendingly. Certainly not her usual demeanor, but it came out unintentionally.

"Just fight out way out." Castiel said calmly, very used to his Master's stress by this point. It had been that kind of mission.

Deep breath. "Fine. Take as few lives as you can manage. We just need to get back to the ship. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Mycroft said shortly, moving away from the window where he'd been surveying the situation outside.

Initially when they'd received their orders, Mycroft Holmes had anticipated long and difficult negotiations with the Trandoshans. They were a predictable warlike people, likelier to engage in battle than civilized conversation, let alone anything even remotely diplomatic. That wasn't, however, a hurdle he hadn't dealt with before... and it wasn't a hurdle he was likely to ever deal with again if the increasingly dire situation outside was anything to go by.

Anthea straightened the minute Mycroft's eyes landed on her and fixed him with her usual calm gaze. "Master?"

"We do as Naomi says." Mycroft confirmed. "We stay close together, take as few lives as possible..." His gaze shifted towards Naomi just as the building shook with the force of yet another blast. "And we follow her lead."

"Which is exactly what we'll do, I'll take point." Naomi said, meeting Mycroft's eyes for a brief moment to calm herself before turning back to her padawan. Years of working together with a man she'd known and been friends with since childhood, even a small look from Mycroft had the ability to calm her down. But those were feelings she didn't allow herself to experience except when she desperately needed it. It was a blessing, but back to the present. "Castiel, you'll be in the back. You know what to do." Protect Mycroft and Anthea. Their mission was to keep them alive. The warriors protecting the diplomats. That's why they were there in the first place.

"Yes, Master." Castiel said, moving towards the door to get ready for their escape, his eyes flitting to the window again.

Naomi caught Castiel's tunic, pulling him back from the door and towards her, bright blue eyes met. "Castiel, I don't care what Aza did to those slaves, do not engage. You understand?"

"Yes, Master." Castiel said automatically, his thoughts obviously straying to the gang's ruthless leader, who'd made more than a mess of two dozen or so human female slaves. Their bodies lay in a pile not twenty feet from the door they were just about to go through. The dark haired young man's hand clenched around his silver hilted lightsaber and he nodded.

"Good." Naomi gave him a fond smile, one she reserved for three people in the entire galaxy, all of whom were present. Leaning forward, she put her forehead to his in the tradition of their home world. A gesture of affection and trust. Despite her above average height, he was taller than she was and had been since he was seventeen, still not as tall as Mycroft, she wasn't sure he'd get that tall. The moment was brief, and she turned to Mycroft to make sure he and Anthea were ready, squeezing her good friend's shoulder just briefly. Seconds later, she took the lead, and they moved out the door in a synchronized motion, lightsabers activated.

Mycroft placed a firm hand on Anthea's shoulder and pushed her in front of him so that she fell between himself and Naomi. There was no need to overprotect, naturally. Like him, his padawan preferred politics to combat but could adequately protect herself if need be.

This, however, was not a situation where merely adequate would do. He trusted only Naomi to take the lead, only her and her skills to keep him and Anthea safe and out of harms way. Castiel fell behind them as the grisly details of the scene they'd merely glimpsed through the window came into sharp focus. The women's discarded bodies to their left, more than fifty gangsters to their right.

His hold on the hilt of his lightsaber tightened just barely, as did his grip on Anthea's shoulder. "You'll do as you're told and nothing beyond that, you understand?"

"Yes, Master." Anthea replied, eyes wide in a rare display of emotion at the scene in front of them. Mycroft cast a brief look at Castiel before surveying the scene in front of them anew.

The gangsters were advancing, one in particular shouting orders while the others fell into place. He turned his eyes their way and Mycroft recognized him then for who he was. Aza, their leader. Over two meters tall, and sporting a wookie pelt cloak, the leader was fearsome, dangerous, ruthless.

It had happened too fast. One minute Castiel was following behind Mycroft, the next he was gone. Naomi's dance to blocking blaster fire had her turning as they ran, and she noticed too late. Castiel hadn't listened.

Aza was stationed near the middle of the large group of Trandoshans, their blasters firing at him in an endless wave. Castiel was a skilled fighter, just as efficient as his master, his blue eyes glowing the usual white of their kind as he attuned himself with the Force and worked his way through the crowd. Bodies were falling, he'd felled ten in the seconds it took to get closer to Aza. Naomi could almost hear it in Castiel's voice, 'righteous anger' he would have called it. Maybe it was the pile of bodies that lay near the door. Maybe it was the fact that these people had been chasing them all over the city for the last three days, with murderous intent. Maybe it was the emotion behind it all, the emotion she couldn't have seemed to teach him to control. Or maybe it was a mix of all three.

"Castiel!" As her voice echoed between the buildings, Naomi saw it coming, from an outsider perspective and their position it was incredibly obvious. And in a leap of desperation, she left Anthea and Mycroft and launched herself into the middle of the crowd. But she was too late.

Aza had pointed an elite weapons at her padawan, it's huge barrel and heavy ammo pack making it an LS-150. Something akin to a portable turret from a space cruiser. She sensed it in the Force, even as it activated. But she was too far away, and her padawan couldn't stop it alone. The highly charged particles tore through Castiel's chest, and, eyes wide, he collapsed, both flesh and robes shredded and bloody. She landed not a split second later.

Naomi was naturally very attuned to the Force, focusing for years to sharpen her skills at coercion and interrogation. And in the moment it took for her to realize what had happened, that the boy she watched grow into a man was dead, she touched the Force as she never had before. Glowing white eyes opened and her hand went out, summoning Castiel's lightsaber to her free hand. It activated, the blue pairing with her white-gold lightsaber.

If she'd been watching herself, in her right mind, she would have been afraid. Mostly of the damage she could, and would do. Blue and gold blades spun around her as she leapt away from the dead padawan's side, flinging herself in to the air. She could feel the elite weapon trained on her, and twisted her body midair to miss the shot, the deadly pieces of charged particles breezing only inches from her skin. She swung in a downward motion with Castiel's lightsaber, slicing Aza from shoulder through his torso. She paid little attention as the wookie pelt clad body, now in two pieces dropped, for the rest of the gangsters reacted. Blaster bullets flew, but she was ready, fueled by grief and rage and the need for revenge. The leader wasn't enough. She wanted more.

The next few surrounding her were the higher ups, their wookie pelts new and their weapons deadly. But she couldn't be bothered to even considered them as individuals, for a flurry of blaster bolts flew towards her. Double blades spun quickly, redirecting the hits. With a jump and spin, she took out the rest of the ten that had circled her. The bodies fell, but she was already moving away.

The lightsaber hilts in her hand were nearly identical, and one felt just as familiar as the other. Castiel had molded his after hers, with a few of his own modifications. They both were thin, completely silver, his with a few black accents, hers with dark grey, to match their feathers. A homeworld tradition, two feathers worn in the hair from the time their kind had their tenth year and until death. She'd spent years teaching him how to use this lightsaber, expanding on the forms he'd been taught as a youngling, until his skill had been nearly identical to hers.

In general, she preferred the acrobatic form of lightsaber dueling, attuning herself with the Force and letting it take control of her, fighting aggressively and gracefully. However, in this instance, with multiple opponents and being control by her emotions, she was keeping things relatively simple, but just as deadly. Employing acrobatics to stay defensive, she also unleashed a flurry of angry attacks on anyone within striking distance.

Naomi fought, blocking blaster fire, stabbing, slicing, murdering.… Blue and gold plasma beams spun as she used everything she had, moving as the Force dictated. Gracefully, lithely, using all of her surroundings to do what she wanted to these beings. Within minutes, every single one of those Trandoshan gangsters was dead. Fifty-four of them in total. When the smoke cleared, Naomi stood alone, head bowed and breathing hard. She deactivated the lightsabers at the same time, eyes trained on the bloody body of her twenty-one year old padawan.

"Naomi!" Mycroft's scream was lost in the noise as Naomi disappeared into the crowd, the ripples in the Force warning them all of impending danger. He moved forward, keeping Anthea close as each step brought them closer to their two companions now too far gone to reach through any conventional means.

And then Mycroft felt it. The sound of the weapon, the shift, the sudden change in atmosphere. It was an formidable and terrifying thing to behold Naomi in action. Mycroft and Anthea never moved from their chosen spot as she swiftly and ruthlessly took out every single Trandoshan gangster until none were left.

By the time everything had cleared and only Naomi stood above everything else, Mycroft understood and, inevitably, his heart ached for her. Anthea fell to her knees beside him, a hand pressed to her mouth as she took in the scene in front of her. "Is he...?"

Mycroft didn't reply, letting go of her shoulder and walking over until he was standing just a few feet away. "Naomi.."

Naomi was breaking, tearing completely into too many pieces to ever be put back together again. She knew he was dead. The familiar pulse of his living Force was gone. She'd never feel it again. The twelve year old she'd picked out of all the younglings of that year, the one she'd helped through bouts of sickness, nightmares, and endless lessons. The teenager she'd taught, connected with, guided. The missions, the discussions, the questions, the meditations, the laughter, the time she snuck them out of the Temple to celebrate his twentieth year, nine years of constant companionship…all gone. Mere months away from the Trials he'd never finish, dead, because he disobeyed and she couldn't protect him, Castiel was dead.

Something interrupted her thoughts, it was another Trandoshan gangster coming around the corner about twenty meters away, apparently late and holding a blaster. She didn't need even to raise her hand, not on a weak mind like his. Anger and sorrow and too many emotions bubbling up inside her, that was the path to Dark Side, but she didn't care. Blue eyes opened as she stared at the foolish young being pointing the blaster at her. When she spoke, her voice was soft, low, too steady. "You_ will _shoot yourself in the head." Force persuasion was her specialty, and in the cruelest way possible, she killed the fifty-fifth gangster, the body dropped with a single shot.

She paid no head to Mycroft's voice, nor Anthea's soft cries. She couldn't hold herself up anymore and just fell to her knees next to Castiel's body. She looked again, slowly storing both lightsabers on her belt and reaching a tentative hand for the young man's head. Shaking fingers closed the glazed blue eyes, a sob finally ripping it's way out of her throat as she cupped his cheek. "Oh Cas…"

Mycroft closed the remaining distance between himself, Naomi and Castiel, slowly dropping into a crouch in front of her. "Naomi..."

Words came easy to Mycroft Holmes. It was part of his job. Talking, negotiating, arguing, convincing, it all required careful consideration of one's vocabulary, demeanor, and approach. In short, while Naomi was a woman of action, Mycroft was a man of words... and no words were forthcoming in Naomi's moment of grief.

With a heavy sigh, he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "We can't stay here, Naomi." He said after a moment. "Our ship is not too far away, but we should move now."

Naomi barely heard him, her eyes fixed on her padawan's face, her hand carding through his short dark hair. She'd reined in her tears, which simply glistened in her eyes as she tilted her head up. They had to get out of there, get somewhere safe, and with Cas... Her body was shaking, her heart breaking into a thousand pieces. There were things to do, they had to get Castiel's body back, had to get to safety. With slow mechanical movements, she raised herself up from the ground, taking off her cloak and draping it over Castiel. For the moment, she had herself under control, at least whatever ghost was controlling her body as she disappeared into her head and away from the pain. She met his eyes again, and nodded. She waved her hand, levitating the cloak covered body, and whispered. "Let's go."

Mycroft rose to his feet, wordlessly gesturing for Anthea to follow. There was no need to ask how Naomi was, it was impossible not to know. To him, it was impossible. As hard as she was to read, there was too much history between them for it to be any other way. He cleared his throat once his padawan was near and gestured for Naomi to lead the way while he followed close behind. A few silent steps later, he spoke. "What can I do?"

Naomi didn't want to chance speaking, afraid that she'd loose whatever control she had. So she merely shook her head and continued on their way. One hand out as she brought Castiel's body with them, the other hand had pulled her lightsaber out again, just in case they were attacked. They weren't far from the ship, maybe a standard kilometer. There was too much to be done for her to fall apart now. She had to get them…or the rest of them out safely. The eighteen hour journey would be more than enough time to think, to cry, to fall apart.

She paid little attention to Anthea's response, knowing full well how close Castiel and her had been, the reaction was going to be nothing but heartbreaking. Mycroft also had very little of her thoughts, not yet. She wasn't sure exactly how, but eventually they made it back to the ship, which had been stealthily concealed and left untouched for the last four days. Once inside, she very gently wrapped and placed Castiel's body in the storage room, immediately leaving it to get the ship ready to go.

Mycroft got Anthea settled in while Naomi stored Castiel's body. He wasn't a sentimental man, but seeing both his friend and his padawan so affected by this particular death was enough to move something in him. So when Anthea wrapped her arms around him and sobbed quietly against his chest, he was momentarily at a loss with what to do. Hesitantly, he circled an arm around her and held her until he felt Naomi coming back up and head into the cockpit. He squeezed Anthea once, leaving her to compose herself in their sleeping quarters before heading out to join Naomi.

The minutes went by quickly, and in Naomi's half-aware and completely quiet state, she took them away from Trandosha. Simply going through the motions until they jumped into hyperspace. Then, and only then, did she slump in her seat, and let out a shaky breath.

It was silent for a long time, and he let the silence stretch between them without interruption. She needed it, and more often than not he was good at gauging what she needed.

When she finally sagged in her seat, he turned towards her and held out his hand.

Naomi took his hand, bringing her other hand to cover her face as she lost the control she'd worked so hard to keep. Sobs shook her shoulders, tears freely falling down her cheeks. She squeezed his hand for a long few seconds before deciding it wasn't enough. She slipped out of her seat and moved over to curl up on his lap. Something she hadn't done for near a decade, one mission where they had been trapped in a prison camp and given fear-provoking drugs, unable to escape. The memory briefly flashed in her mind and then she dismissed it, overwhelmed with so much more.

Fingers curled into his robes, and she just cried, clinging to the solid foundation that he was and had been through their lives together. Mourning the loss of her padawan, for failing him. Either in training, or in instructions, somewhere she'd failed. She felt no guilt for the lives she'd taken, although she was sure the Council would have questions, and she'd like get put on probation of some kind. Failure and the death of a Jedi always had consequences. Right now, that didn't matter to her. She was alone, padawan-less. Castiel was dead. She wasn't sure she'd ever recover.

Mycroft circled his arms around Naomi with a quiet sigh. He propped his chin on top of her head and held her close while she cried, loosening his hold on her a moment after to soothingly rub her arm. Inevitably, his own mind drifted back to the same mission that led them to the prison camp. Horrible in it's own merits, but this was different. Different in the worst possible way, and he found himself holding her tighter to keep her from falling apart altogether. A silly notion for a man driven by logic, but true all the same. "I'm here," he said after a long moment. "I've got you."

She didn't trust her voice yet, still working through everything, and just nodded her head as she held onto him. Death was a natural part of life, a Jedi death meant that they became one with the Force, it wasn't to be feared. But Castiel had been too young, and her heart ached at the loss of him. She just let herself cry, until she couldn't cry anymore. However long it took, eventually she shifted in his arms, turning her head so they were face to face. Wet blue eyes scanned quickly, her hand reaching up to run over his stubbled cheek in a thoughtful moment. Her reaction was inappropriate, she knew that full well. Killing all those people, out of anger and hatred and grief…she was so full of sorrow, regret, pain. These were negative emotions, blocking the light side of the Force, and a dangerous tipping point for any Jedi. At this point, she needed something to replace the sorrow, to push it away. Not even sure what she was doing, she closed the gap between them and kissed him.

The weight of what had just transpired wasn't lost on Mycroft. As much as Jedi were taught that death was just another part of a Jedi's cycle, the loss of a padawan would always be painful. The Jedi purged emotion, but it wasn't something they did once and forgot. It was something they had to do over and over. A constant struggle that was part of who they were and what they did.

So while Naomi's reaction was inappropriate, and dangerously close to the edge, Mycroft could and did understand. Perhaps because he'd known her so long, or perhaps because he was so attuned to her feelings they sometimes melded with his own. Either way, it didn't matter, because as close to the edge as he knew she was, he'd never let her go over. Whatever it took.

Of course, he never expected what came next. Naomi's lips were warm and damp with tears against his, the contact surprising in its spontaneity... but even more surprising in its effect. He pulled her closer, one hand holding her firmly in place while the other found its way to the back of her neck and tilted her head back to deepen the kiss. It was only then that he caught himself and pulled back, breathing ragged and eyes still closed.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" Naomi's voice shook with the effort of trying not to burst into tears again. "I didn't…mean to…I don't…" She couldn't get off of him, afraid that by moving away from the comfort he provided, she'd break apart. But that was yet another inappropriate action. She threw an arm around his shoulder and buried her face in the crock of his neck and cried softly again. "I don't…know what to do."

Mycroft pulled her close again, the hand behind her neck slipping into her hair and gently twisting the strands between his fingers. "Naomi, it's alright," he assured her quietly, allowing her another moment of silence before he continued. "I am as culpable for that as you are..." He shouldn't have kissed her back, he was aware of it. Not only was it wrong by their standards, it was wrong because she was vulnerable. There as no denying he'd wanted it, but like every other dangerous feeling before he needed to deal with it as any Jedi would. He buried his face in her hair. "I'm sorry... I..." He let go a deep sigh. "We will figure this out together, Naomi. You are not alone."

She wasn't alone, she knew that. But she certainly felt that way, and would continue to feel that way during the debriefing, and then the cleaning out of Castiel's quarters. The time to come when instead of a knighting a new Jedi, she'd be burning an empty vessel on a funeral pyre. Her body shook again before she replied. "I failed….everything we've ever done, everything I am…and I failed him."

"Naomi, he disobeyed," Mycroft said firmly. "His instructions were clear, and he let his emotions lead him astray." Their current situation flashed briefly inside his head, but he pushed it aside. "It was understandable under the circumstances," he continued in a softer tone. "His... compassion always could get the better of him. Too much heart, perhaps."

Naomi let out another soft cry, trying everything she could to get herself under control again. Castiel had been one of the most compassionate souls she'd met, and it was one of the things that sparked her interest in him as a youngling. "I know….I thought I could focus it, point it in such a way that he will….would have been a great Jedi." That was her failure, she hadn't been able to. And in that moment, she decided she'd never take another padawan. She'd already been scouting the ten and eleven year olds, for by the time Castiel would have been Knighted, they would have been ready.

"Naomi." Mycroft pulled her back and took her face in his hands, gently wiping tears away with his thumbs. "You were an excellent Master. The best he could've hoped for, certainly, and he would've made a great Jedi." Confident blue eyes met teary blue. "Some things are simply out of our control, and we must learn to accept them as we accept everything else. You can't... shouldn't... be so hard on yourself."

Naomi drew in a shaky breath and nodded slightly, unable to cry any more. He was right. He was always right. And she'd stopped counting the number of times she'd benefited from his wisdom and logic. "I will….accept this…eventually." Her hand moved and cupped his cheek again, fingers light on his skin. "But I can't take another, ever. I will not go through this again." She paused, leaning in to press her forehead to his in the same traditional gesture as she had just shared with Castiel. "He was too young. And I loved him too much."

"I know," Mycroft said softly, closing his eyes again while letting his hands trail down her neck and settle on her shoulders. "You don't ever have to take another padawan, if that is what you want. I support your decision, as always." Even if it saddened him to think about it, naturally. Naomi truly was a great Master. "Is there really nothing I can do?"

"Don't die, Mycroft." Naomi said seriously, the unspoken words putting pressure on her very being. That needed to be properly pushed aside as well. "I couldn't…I can't lose you too."

"I'll do my best to live forever, then," Mycroft answered lightly, giving her shoulders a squeeze and trailing his hands down her arms. "I won't die before my time, Naomi. I'll do my very best, at least." He paused, and his hands paused with him. "But you need to promise the same, because I couldn't bare to lose you either."

"Then we'll both be living forever. Or at least until we're old and gray and frightening yet another generation of younglings." Naomi said, giving him a sad smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. There was a long pause as she contemplated her next question and eventually she let out a little breath and spoke in a timid voice she never used. "Can…I kiss you again?" She asked quietly, her eyes looking down as she tried to explain her thought process. "Just once more, and then we can….put it behind us. Lock it away….I just need to know."

"Yes," Mycroft answered too quickly, hastily adding something else so he wouldn't seem to eager to try something so inappropriate again. "Just one more time." He placed a hand beneath her chin and tilted her head up so he could catch her eyes. "I need to know too."

Naomi gave him another little smile, teary eyed and still hurting. But with such a great loss so recent, and the thought of losing another so close to her, she did have to know. She had to know what these dangerous emotions were, weeded out from everything else. Because right there, right then, she realized how much she cared for him, and how far she'd be willing to go to protect him. There was too much history between them. They grew up together, fighting, learning, working, laughing, making conversation. She cared about him. She loved…no, she couldn't do that.

Slipping her fingers in his messy dark auburn hair, she brought her lips to his and then closed her eyes. Just this once, she had to promise herself that, because the galaxy needed them. The Jedi needed them, despite the consequences she'd face, she still had work to do. She kissed him, inexperienced as she was, but letting her instincts take over as she melted into the forbidden contact.

Mycroft did need to know, because the feelings he'd been keeping on a low simmer for so long had suddenly blazed into a roaring fire and he wasn't sure how he was meant to rein them back in. Yes, Mycroft Holmes, a man who knew so many things was at a loss when it came to feelings such as the one he was experiencing at that moment. His hands trailed over her, gently and chastely, in an attempt to sear into his brain what was likely to be the very last time he held her that way. It needed to be the last time, they both knew it. To move forward with anything else was not only forbidden, but dangerous. his hands finally settled around her head, tilting her head once again to deepen the contact. It was easy enough to do, and already it felt too familiar but it couldn't be helped.

Something surged inside of her as she felt his response, something she couldn't identify. They would move past this, proper compartmentalization and a mutual understanding. It would be difficult, but necessary. But that didn't mean her head was trying to find a way to progress this, keeping it secret from everyone else. Considering both their skill sets, they would likely be able to pull it off. But…it was still against the code, against all the gripping emotions that the Jedi Order had set aside for the sake of the greater good. What she would give to just be selfish, but she couldn't do that, they couldn't do that. Maybe the memory of the events of today would make it easier to put this behind her. At least that's what she hoped. As she pushed him back in his chair, a hand slipped down to feel his chest, the muscles there, from hours of training and sparing. She could practically feel his heartbeat racing, just as hers was. Everything she wanted, it was denied her, denied them. Because she wanted more and couldn't have it.

Mycroft's hands slipped down to her hips and gripped them tight when she pushed him back. He couldn't help himself. He wanted her closer, needed her closer, and they only had this one time to make it happen. Or perhaps it wouldn't be the last time? Perhaps they could live with stolen moments here and there to keep them going? Was that better? Or was that worse? His normally sharp mind couldn't think past the feeling of having her so close and it was both terrifying, and exhilarating. Neither of which helped in any way. He broke away from her to trail a line of kisses down her neck.

Naomi gasped at the change of contact and the foreignness of it, but instead of pulling away, tilted her head to give him better access. Relishing the feel of his lips, his hands on her hips, and the stubble on his chin as he brushed over her skin, she ran her hands over his chest and shoulders, slipping one into the warmness under his tunic and over his collar bone. Completely vulnerable emotionally, and in a desperate position considering the days events, she wasn't going to say no to anything he elected to do. It was only natural wasn't it? Close friends, horrific events, she _needed_ to get lost in the feeling of something else besides her grief.

Mycroft reached the edge of her robe with his lips and reached up to move it aside and expose a shoulder, continuing over the now bare skin with equal enthusiasm. It was only when he found himself wanting to do more that he forced himself to stop and pull back to meet her eyes. Once again, his breathing was more like panting but it couldn't be helped. "Naomi..." He said between breaths. "Are you... are you sure? Should I... continue?"

"Mycroft…" Naomi opened eyes and breathed deeply, looking him over with a careful eye. Her hand lifted and she shut and locked the door, just in case Anthea wasn't sleeping as she was supposed to be. She was trembling slightly, but shifted so that she was straddling his lap instead. Taking his head in her hands, she leaned in to kiss him gently, pulling away after just a seconds of contact. "Please continue…I need you." She paused and just met his eyes, unspoken words filling the silence. She wasn't sure what this was going to entail, she just knew she wanted him closer, wanted him to touch her, wanted to connect deeper.

Mycroft didn't need to hear anything else, her giving him than enough permission to move forward. He leaned back in his chair, hands moving slowly as they ran from her hips to her sides and slowly to undo the obi tied securely around her waist. He discarded it on the floor of the cockpit and pulled her back down for a slow but short kiss. "You've got me, Naomi."

"I know." Naomi was done crying, no longer angry, but simply full of immense sorrow at the day's events. She needed something else, something to properly put it behind her. This would do. Dangerous waters, but she was beyond caring at this point. Hands braced on either side of his head, she kissed him back and then pushed away, pulling off her boots and undoing the cream tunic she wore and tossing it to the side, leaving her in a simple bra and pants. Not that he hadn't ever seen her in those. Partners in many missions over the years, both before and after padawans, quarters were bound to be cramped in certain circumstances. Still, this felt…different. Probably because it was. Her hands moved to help loosen his top and belt, strangely craving the skin contact, and then wandered over him slowly. "Mycroft…I'm sorry."

Mycroft closed his eyes, savoring the contact for a moment before opening them back up. Inevitably, he found his eyes wandering over her, appreciating her form in a whole new way. He touched bare skin slowly, almost reverently before he looked up to meet her eyes. "Why are you sorry?"

"I don't know." Naomi said with a bit of a concerned look, putting a hand over his to guide it gently over her. "But if delving into…into this requires an apology and repentance, or a price… I will gladly pay it. I don't want to…pull you with me." They'd do damage control after the fact, because right now, she really didn't care. She just wanted him, she wanted to forget, even if just for a moment.

Mycroft let Naomi guide his hands, but finally straightened in his seat and pulled her closer, wanting to do it himself. Quick fingers found the clasp of her bra behind her back, and he gently pulled it down her arms before tossing it to the side. "Then we'll both pay," he promised, again letting his hands roam over her skin. He leaned in and pressed his lips to her collarbone. "Though I'm not sure I'll ever regret this."

"The same for me." Naomi closed her eyes again, shifting to give him access to her, experiencing him in ways she'd never expected. She felt more vulnerable than she really liked, but this was Mycroft. Any number of consequences lay ahead of them if they were discovered. Likely more for her, as she had bent rules in the past. They might be assigned different mission partners, stationed in different corners of the galaxy, forbidden ever to see each other again, or merely reprimanded and threatened. But, using Mycroft's words, balance of probability suggested they would not be found out, they were too good at what they did to slip up like that.

And honestly, at this point, she did not care about the consequences or possible punishment, only with the feel of his hands and lips, and the never ending trust she had in him. Her own hands moved over his lean muscle and freckled skin, studying his face when her eyes were open, and otherwise just letting herself_ feel_. She was a warrior, trained and hardened from years of intense work. But she could always be vulnerable with him, mentally as in years past, emotionally on rare occasions, and physically as just now. She trusted him with everything she was, and in the unspoken, forbidden thoughts she'd kept properly contained for years…she loved him. So she told him that, pulling away from him to help rid him of his trousers and then looking him back in the eye. "You know, we are encouraged to love peoples unconditionally, self-sacrificing and all encompassing, to better serve them… but I'm afraid, my love is also directed substantially at you. I love you."

Mycroft Holmes wasn't a sentimental man, he was a man of logic. Compassionate and understanding, as all Jedi were, but favoring cold reason over in all matters that required clarity. No, Mycroft wasn't a sentimental man, but Naomi's words were familiar to him. Familiar from years of hearing them inside his head whenever she was close enough to feel through the Force; from long hours spent in close quarters meditating, talking, planning, or simply moving around each other in silence because no words were needed to fill the comfortable space between them. Familiar because, like her, he'd acknowledged them only to bury them deep every single time. That wasn't the case now.

Blue eyes stared into blue, and he moved forward to cup her face in his hands and pulled her closer. "I love you too, Naomi," he said quietly, speaking the words against her skin as he kissed his way over her jaw and down her neck. "They're not words I'll be likely to say again, but right here, right now, you deserve to know you're not the only one." He pulled back to meet her eyes again, and the next time he spoke, he spoke in Enochian. "_I love you_."

If she wasn't already feeling these things, that would have pushed her over the edge. Enochian, and the complete honesty of his words. The language she'd spoken mostly with Castiel, and a language she wasn't likely ever going to speak with another Jedi, as most of their people had been wiped away in a horrific plague after Cas was found. The jokes, and orders, and discussions, all in Enochian, and the fact that she'd never hear Castiel speak it broke her heart all over again. Even before she'd had Cas, Mycroft had picked it up, naturally, as he was very good at language studies. A brief memory of hours of getting him to help her with her language homework when they were younglings, and the three decades of friendship that had grown from their first meeting.

So when he spoke those words, she reacted only as she could. Wrapping arms around his neck and pressing herself against him, she kissed him fiercely, pushing him back in the upright chair. She'd repeat those words in Enochian over the immediate future as they delved into the forbidden. But she agreed, it wasn't something they could say again.

There was no chance of a child. She couldn't have children. A particularly close call in her early twenties had left her abdomen torn to pieces, and a functioning womb was not high on the Jedi healers' priority list. Beneficial in many ways, but somewhere deep inside her instincts she actually was saddened by that fact. It was a ridiculous notion, driven by the basic need to reproduce. She dismissed it. Didn't matter, for right now, the only thing that mattered was him.

There was a reason Jedi purged emotions such as the ones both Mycroft and Naomi were experiencing in that moment. They were strong, powerful, overwhelming. A tidal wave that could and would drag anyone in its path into depths that were as intense as they were frightening, but awe-inspiring nonetheless. It wasn't something Mycroft had understood before, likely because he hadn't given it much thought in the first place.

He certainly understood it now. Using actions instead of words, he bared his soul to Naomi as he'd never done with another living being. He pulled her closer, memorized every inch of her from the texture of her lips to softness of her hair. It was intimate, and precious, even as the Force rushed between them around around them. To lose something like that, to either death or circumstances, it would drive almost anyone into extremes. Jedi simply couldn't afford extremes if they were to embrace the light side of the Force.

But it was tempting, he could recognize that now.

Eventually, when they'd stopped moving, exhausted but still clinging to each other, Mycroft held her close to his chest and closed his eyes. He waited a long while until his breathing normalized before he attempted to speak again. "Naomi," he said quietly. "Are you alright?"

A simple question with a very complicated answer. No, she wasn't alright. Her Padawan was still dead, she'd never be the same. She could already tell. There was guilt, so much regret, the lack of training that had her too compassionate Padawan acting against order to take revenge against horrific crimes. Guilt at what the whole experience led her to do, both killing those people and then this... It had done what she needed it too, found something to replace the sorrow. An excuse, she realized, an excuse to indulge in things they were supposed to set aside for the greater good, for balance, for the light that came with using the Force as it was intended. But still, there was no regret with that activity.

She'd never regret that, because that...had been wonderful. Intimacy, and vulnerability, and love...why was that wrong? She was having a hard time trying to convince herself that it had been. Years of pent up emotions flooding out in one day, it was overwhelming, to say the least.

Naomi took a moment to compose her thoughts, still resting on him and not wanting to move away. A deep breath, and she replied. "I will be...I think." She paused, not exactly wanting to talk about Castiel's death and the inevitable struggles that would produce just yet. "We...we need to decide what to do."

Mycroft waited patiently for Naomi's reply, aware there was no easy way to describe the entirety of what they'd been through within the last few hours. Overwhelming guilt and sorrow would color everything else in her eyes, that much he knew. Nothing else would've driven her to react the way she had, and the weight of both their actions settled heavily on his shoulders. "You _will _be alright," he told her first, gently running hand down her back. "There are... things to consider regarding Castiel's passing, and failed diplomatic talks with the Trandoshan's before we meet with the Council. Naturally there will be questions." Pause. "But I assume you mean we need to decide what to do about..." He squeezed her lightly. "_This_."

Naomi curled up just a little bit more, pressing a kiss to his neck and then resting her head on his. "I…don't know what to do." She sniffed and let out a shaky breath. "I can climb off of you, and we can forget this happened. Proceed as we always have. Or we can steal moments together…continue this…attachment and caring in secret. They both are…horrible options and I don't know which is worse." She sat up, meeting his eyes again with wide sad nearly teary eyes. "I trust your council, and your wisdom. Because I am utterly and completely lost."

'Horrible options' was putting it mildly, as far as Mycroft was concerned. There was so much risk involved if they continued down this path. Stealing moments together, always the possibility that they'd be caught. The consequences of it would be catastrophic, or they would feel catastrophic to them both. Mycroft knew himself to be a good Jedi, knew their pillars intimately and strove to live by them with the utmost dedication. It was a struggle, always. He was still a man, after all, but a man of his word and he'd plead his life to a cause.

Then there was Sherlock, his little brother. Almost as brilliant as he was, and equally observant. They didn't see each other much, truly. But there was always the chance.

On the other hand, he wasn't sure he could forget what had happened. Indeed he'd made sure he couldn't forget, preserving it all inside his head with as much detail as he could manage. He didn't want to lose that, and he knew the memory of it would pull at him any time Naomi was near. As much control as he had, there were limits and he knew his. He wanted her, and he wanted this, and that would weaken his resolve. Always.

He stared into her eyes and slowly expelled a breath. "If we do this," he began, "we need to be extremely careful." Pause. "Not just about being caught, but about... losing our balance, as they say."

Naomi sniffed again, pinching her eyes closed and leaning her forehead against his. She was unsure how to respond. This path…dangerous, bordering the edge. But it was also worth the risk. Wasn't it? Letting down those guards and allowing yourself to be completely vulnerable with one person. The one person she'd go to the ends of the galaxy for, kill for, die for. Even if they separated and forgot about it…she wasn't sure her attachment…this love would ever go away completely. It had been built over many years, attempting to forget would hardly tear it down.

She ran a hand over his shoulder again, reaffirming her decision and making sure he was still there. "We can…keep our balance together. Can we not? Keep each other in check." A pause and she pulled away to look at him. "We _must _put the Order first, the good of those people we serve. But we can still…have each other."

"The Order first," Mycroft confirmed seriously, reaching up to push her hair behind her shoulders. "And we'll keep each other in check, make sure we don't stray." He looked her over, organizing his next words inside his head before he spoke them out loud. "I do have one request to make," he began gently. "Eventually, when you're feeling... more like yourself, we need to revisit this again." Pause. "I... suppose I want to know this decision isn't entirely driven by grief... and guilt. I... love you, Naomi. Very much, and I want you to be sure."

"_I love you, Mycroft." _Naomi said in Enochian, not taking her eyes off of him to make sure he understood the truth of it. "But you are right, as usual. We can't…jump into this without thought." She tried a small smile, running her fingers over his cheek again. Emotions running unchecked, from one extreme to the other, she wasn't sure she was simply going to break apart from it all. Later, she needed time to think about this, meditate on it, reach a decision. She knew one thing, she couldn't face a world without him. Either as her companion, or something more, that would never go away. And just as with Castiel, whom she'd loved like a son, a reaction to his loss would do considerable damage. She took a breath in the second it took to think it over. "After…after the memorial, and my debriefing. We'll discuss this again."

"Acceptable," Mycroft said with the faintest of smiles. He could admit to himself he was nervous. Nervous she'd reconsider and they'd lose what they'd found there in the midst of tragic circumstances. It would be understandable. Expected, even, but never pleasant. "I'll be with you, of course," he said after a moment. "Throughout the process, I'll be sure to stand by you in any way I can, not just because we are in this together." He pulled her in to embrace her once more. "Your wellbeing, in all areas, is beyond important to me."

Naomi melted once again in his arms, tucking herself into him, which felt so natural, even in this new manner. "As is yours to me." She said with a soft sigh. She wanted to forget what had happened, and what was to come. She didn't want to talk about it, not right now. They'd talk eventually, for he was the only one she trusted with her thoughts. They needed to reevaluate the entire mission, and her actions, and Castiel's ultimate flaw. The Council would go over this as well, and she could practically hear Yoda's voice and feel Windu's stony stare. But 'in this together' meant she didn't have to worry about this alone. That was beyond comforting. "You may never know how much you mean to me."

"I don't know, I know many things," Mycroft replied with a hint of humor to his tone, but underneath there was warmth and understanding. He could've said those words himself and they would've been just as true. He took his cue from her, however, postponing the topic for a later time. They'd have time. "Are you tired?"

"Extremely." Naomi said, as her eyes were already closed. Honestly, she probably could have fallen asleep right there. Four days being on the run and trying to protect everyone, meant she'd gotten very little sleep. But eventually Anthea would be awake and would try to find them. She really should check on her. The young woman had lost a good friend as well. Naomi was quite fond of Anthea, having been around to watch her grow up with Castiel. She was going to be a talented Knight and diplomat.

But falling asleep here and now was not an option. She had to wash, find a sleep tunic, and then move to the sleeping quarters she'd shared with Castiel on the way there. She sniffed again, smoothing her hand over his chest. "I need to check on Anthea as well. Then I'm going to sleep."

"I can take the quarters you've been sharing with Castiel, if that would be preferable," Mycroft offered quietly, wondering as always if he was reading her correctly. In that moment, he was sure Naomi was putting up no walls. They were both vulnerable in the extreme and that was alright because it meant they were both in it together. Still, Naomi always was difficult to read and he found it was better to ask than simply assume. "I'm sure Anthea wouldn't mind, and I don't seem to be very good at... comforting her right now." He paused. "Whatever you want, whatever you need. I'll oblige."

"That'd be…preferable." Naomi didn't take much convincing at the moment. She was hurting, and alone, and the thought of going back to the Temple, walking into the room she had shared with Castiel for the last nine years, scared her more than she'd admit. The sleeping quarters on this ship was just a precursor. Jedi didn't keep many possessions, but even still, there were pieces of him there. His data pad, the painting he'd been given by a young girl after they saved their village, the tea set they used nearly every day there were home, the dented burn in the table because he accidentally activated his training saber onto it. She may just ask to be moved, for their quarters were meant for Masters with Padawans. And she'd not be taking another.

"Anthea is strong, and she understands you." Naomi noted after a moment. "But she's still grieving. I will be there for her. The four of us were a team, and that will not change now."

"You don't need to comfort her," Mycroft added quickly. "I'm sure she will be able to overcome this as she does with everything else. She is... quite gifted." He paused, thoughts drifting to his padawan while momentarily wondering what it would've been like if he'd lost her. An awful loss, there was no doubt. Anthea understood and accommodated his personality in way very few people in his life could, as Naomi had pointed out. Gently pressing his lips to her shoulder, he closed his eyes. "And you need comforting yourself, Naomi. I'm simply sorry I can't continue to give it... at least not within the immediate future."

Naomi turned her head, inhaling his scent for a moment. "You're assuming the comfort you give is purely physical." She pointed out, running a hand through his hair and down his neck. "As appreciated as that is, because that's the reason I haven't stood up,….I do appreciate your mind and wisdom as a comfort as well."

"Neither one of which will be present if we're to sleep in separate quarters," Mycroft replied with a small smile. "I'm aware it isn't purely physical, but my presence is usually required for my mind and wisdom to offer comfort as well. Usually." He kissed her shoulder and smoothed a hand down her back. "I do believe Anthea must be sleeping now, however. At the very least she should be. We can concern ourselves with her well being tomorrow."

"Then, let's wash and put clothes on. I'd rather not have your padawan stumble in while we're in this state." Naomi said, pulling back to study his face again. "And then you can hold me and we can sleep, because I'm not sure I won't have nightmares."

"Acceptable," Mycroft replied, leaning in for a gentle kiss before helping her off his lap. Leaning over the side of his seat, he snatched his trousers off the ground. "I'm not entirely sure what her reaction would be, but amusing as it could be it'll likely cause more trouble than it's worth." He slipped them on and searched for his tunic. "You can wash first, I'll go after."

Naomi gave him a bit of a smile, her eyes running over him as he changed in a reflective moment. She hadn't bothered with putting the clothes back on, simply covering herself as much as possible before slipping out of the door to the refersher. The clothes went in the washer, to be done by the time she was out of the shower. She gave herself another minute to completely break down, leaning against the wall under the stream of water, and trying to keep her sobs as quiet as possible.

Eventually, after caring for and composing herself, she came back out of the small room and made her way to the two rooms. She hesitated, unsure of where to go, but slipped into the room Anthea was in. She took a second to crouch next to the young woman's bed, fast asleep and tear tracks down her cheeks. She ran a gentle hand through her hair, moving it away from her face. She tried to think of what it would have been to lose her instead…but quickly dismissed it as the emotions began welling up inside her again. With a quiet sigh, she moved over to Mycroft's bed and slipped under the simple blanket to wait for him.

Mycroft found himself a sleeping tunic first and slipped into the refresher as soon as Naomi slid out. He didn't stay long under the stream of water, choosing efficiency over comfort to get the task finished quickly. His thoughts inevitably strayed while he was on his own. To Naomi, to Castiel, and to Anthea. Three of the four people he valued most in the entire galaxy, his brother naturally being the fourth no matter how many times they fought and snarked at each other.

Once out, he deposited his own clothes in the newly vacated washer and slipped into his room. He paused beside Anthea first, carefully surveying the young woman he'd spent so much of his time training and caring for. Fast asleep as she was, she never notice, but then she never did. It certainly wasn't the first time he checked on her, having done it a few times in the past when she'd been hurt or upset by one thing or another. It rarely happened anymore.

Turning away from her, he walked over to his bed and slipped in beside Naomi. Quietly pulling her into his arms, her back to his chest. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in deep. "I've got you," he said quietly.

From exhaustion and the sudden onset of emotion, Naomi trembled against him, her hands resting gently on his arms. She pinched her eyes closed, and just took a second to let herself relax into his embrace. The last time she'd slept in his arms, they'd both been drugged up with fear-inducing toxin, just using each other to try and stay sane enough to escape. Staying sane, that's what she was trying to do now. And she would, because she had to. She had classes to teach, missions to complete, lives to save, people to protect. The simple fact was that she'd be doing it without a padawan. Taking a deep breath, she leaned against him and replied. "I know."

Eventually she drifted off to sleep, the days and hours and emotions catching up to her. It'd be a long, fitful sleep filled with nightmares about Cas before she'd wake completely up again.

They were long hours for Mycroft, though he was sure they were even longer for Naomi. Evidently nightmares kept tormenting her, one after the other until she was shaking in his arms and there was little he could do to prevent it. At some point during that time, Anthea woke and cast a confused look their way. He explained in whispers and gestures until his padawan resettled into her bed with a sorrowful expression on her face.

She cared deeply for Naomi, about as much as she cared for him, and concern inevitably lined every feature on her face. Eventually, she too slipped back to sleep and Mycroft tried for what felt like the hundredth time to catch some rest himself. It was only about an hour or two at the most, but it was enough, and when Naomi stirred in his arms he was already awake.

The nightmare had finally woken her up, after having replayed too many times to count. She didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to think about the body just at the other end of the ship. She didn't wake up thinking this whole thing had been one nightmare, that she'd wake up and Castiel's inquisitive blue eyes and slight lopsided smile would be there to greet her. No, she knew where she was and what had happened. So she turned in his arms, latching fingers onto his shirt and breathed in deep, willing away the tears again. She took a couple minutes to think, and wake up, breathing deeply. "How long till we get there?" She asked softly.

"Two more hours," Mycroft replied quietly, soothingly running a hand through her hair. "They should go by fairly quickly, though. We need to dress, eat, talk before our debriefing." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Anything you need me to do to make this easier right now?"

"Just hold me a bit longer." Naomi confessed, comfortable as the situation made it possible in his arms. "It might be a while before we do this again."

"Of course." Mycroft secured his arm around her and pulled her close to his chest, pressing another kiss to her forehead before propping his chin on top of her head. He continued to run his fingers through her hair, simply being there for her while he could. Time felt like it was running out on their little safe haven, likely because it was, and as if he was any sentimental person... he was chasing after it to make it stop.

The next few days were difficult. She had predicted that. But she was a Jedi Knight. She would move past this. She'd box it away, properly compartmentalize her life with Castiel. The fond memories, the times of frustrations. Cas would always have a place inside of her, she wouldn't forget him. But she had to move on. The funeral, and the debriefing, her short probation, the counseling she went through with Yoda, those few days blurred together. The only thing she kept of him was his lightsaber. Completely silver, modeled after her own with a few of his own ideas. She also kept his feathers, a home world tradition of theirs. Two feathers woven into the hair and upon death were granted to the person's closest friend. His had been next to his padawan braid. Now, the black feathers were tied onto his lightsaber and put in a box that she stored in her new living quarters.

Mycroft was there for her, the foundation that she rested on, anchoring her emotions and finding her balance again. In the weeks following their return, they had several conversations, in private, debating and working through how they would proceed from what happened between them. A decision was made.

In the years that followed, they found those stolen moments. All in secret. No one would know. Their life in the Temple didn't change much, for they had spent much time together anyways. But their intimate time together was kept to a minimum there, just in case. Sometimes they'd go without seeing each other for months, then they indulged in it in one of their rooms. Sherlock nearly deduced it one of those times, but an excuse and a mental prompt and he let it go.

Naomi nearly lost Mycroft once. Another diplomatic mission gone wrong and they were swept up in a civil war. He was a skilled fighter, better than most Guardians, but there had been too many of them. He'd nearly died, and she felt herself slipping as she fought her way to save him. But, it was that sheer determination driven by unconditional love that saved him and got them out. She wasn't sure she would have been able to do it otherwise. Balance was found again, and they moved on.

When they could indulge, the physical aspect of their secret relationship was refreshing, exhilarating, and comforting. But that was not the only thing they appreciated about this. The fact that they could be completely open with each other, about how they felt and the struggles they were facing, that was the best part of it. The non-verbal clues, the glances, the unspoken words, meditating, reaching through the Force for each other, it was all worth it. So long as they did not get caught, she was very confident that it would work. And this…whatever it was…was enough for her. The best of living as a Jedi, and living in love with another.


End file.
